Agatine (Terres book II)

Chapter Six

Wren watched Rannok out of the corner of her eye, gaze tinged with suspicion, as if she were afraid he would jump out at her at any moment. He didn't, though. He took a seat on one of the cushions on the other side of the room and pulled a book out of his bag. He flipped to a page somewhere in the middle and started scanning the page as if she wasn't even there.

Something about it made her feel indignant. Like she didn't matter anymore. She snorted to herself and grabbed the edge of her wings, pulling the fragile bones away from her body, careful not to stress her newly-healed skin. The feathers were still tied together in clumps, evidence of the many times she'd tried to preen them with her fingers only to make them worse. 

The dusty room echoed around them, silence filling the gaps, thick and sticky and bitter-tasting. Wren remembered when they were children and would sit together for hours in complete and total silence, content to read a book and ignore one another. She missed it. It made her heart ache for home, for people that weren't annoyed by her presence or indifferent to it. In fact she'd never felt so alone in a room that contained another person.

She ran her fingers over one of her flight feathers. The fronds stuck together like velcro, but in tassels rather than laid flat. She sighed and shook the wing a little. It emitted a cloud of dust. Rannok looked up from whatever book he was reading and raised an eyebrow at her. She looked back down at the wing.

"You know, you can ask for help," he said. The wings on his back shifted slightly as he readjusted himself against the wall.

"Leave me alone," she muttered. It wasn't like he'd had his for much longer than she'd had hers. But somehow they never looked rumpled or had dust stuck in them. She'd seen him roll them between his fingers and lay them flat again a million times, and she'd figure it out on her own. And at any rate she would not lower herself to asking for his help. Not now or ever.

"Fine, suit yourself." He flipped one of the pages like nothing had happened. Wren's face flushed and she tried again to smooth the feathers into place. The little fronds just grouped themselves into a bigger mess. She swore under her breath and let go of the wing. It sprung back into place against the wall and folded itself up automatically. 

"Nevermind." She stood up and opened the door to the tiny apartment, squinting as the now-midmorning sun assaulted her unadjusted eyes. Hot air rushed into the apartment like she'd opened the door to an oven. She stepped outside and replaced it carefully so as not to awaken Ittra. Not that she doubted the woman was actually awake, probably taking care of something or another that Wren had no part or business in.

She looked up and down the alleyway. The buildings were too close together, so close that there was barely room for her to move through. It smelled like damp air and piss. She coughed and glanced around. Someone had hung a white flag outside their door, and one of the windows had a flowerbox hanging off the ledge. She'd have to remember them for later.

Not that she was any stranger to wandering. She'd done it every day in the caravan, with or without Armand. The danger didn't bother her, but she didn't know if it was because she didn't have the energy to fear it or because she didn't know if she'd care if something happened to her. At least then she wouldn't be so lost.

She hadn't gotten but ten steps from the door when she heard it open, then shut behind her. She wheeled around to see Rannok following her down the street. She swore under her breath and sped up to get away from him, rage building in her chest in a place no one could see. She resolved to keep it under wraps.

"Can't you take a hint," she said. She folded her arms and kept walking. He easily caught up to her and matched her stride, hands shoved in his pockets, an easy look on his face. He shrugged.

"We don't know where we are or how they treat marked ones," he replied. But what he really meant was don't wander off. As if this place were just like the caravan, and he was her keeper. Heat grew in her chest. This wasn't like the caravan. It couldn't be.

She'd find a place here, and friends that wanted her for more than how she looked, or whether or not she would let them touch her. The heat got stronger as she remembered the day Armand left for good. How he'd kissed her when she neither wanted nor welcomed it, and how broken he looked when she said no anyway. How alone she felt when he left her without even so much as saying goodbye. Like they were never actually friends to begin with.

"Why do you keep trying so hard?" she asked Rannok as she turned toward him. His face got pensive and he sighed and leaned against a nearby building.

"Because I shouldn't have done what I did," he said.

"Maybe you should have thought about it first," she snapped. All at once his eyes grew a terrible longing, like he was remembering a distant and unpleasant memory. She remembered that day in the fireworks shop, how much her hands shook, how Arin looked at her in a way that was almost but not quite accusatory.

Rannok lifted his eyes and locked them on hers. "You had a choice to not buy them," he said. "Your mother is my fault, but the fireworks are half yours."

A wave of anger hit Wren so hard it nearly knocked her over. Heat rose to her face. She remembered the scarf. How pretty it looked in the market stall and how easy it was to wind it around her wrist and walk away as if it had always been hers. As soon as she got home she'd stuffed it under her bed and pretended she never had it. But Rannok was with her. He saw and he hadn't let her forget, not for days.

"I was a shitty kid, but I grew up," he said quietly, matter-of-fact, as if he read her mind. It was so infuriating it made her want to explode. "It was a shitty thing to do, but I don't know how to make it better unless you tell me. We're stuck with one another in case you've forgotten."

Wren turned on her heel and stormed like a tempest back to the apartment. She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. Her eyes started to burn and she wiped them furiously with her sleeve. The door creaked open behind her and she wheeled to face him.

"Take it all back," she said, voice echoing around the tiny room. It hurt her eardrums. "If you want to make it better, take it back!" She wanted desperately to punch him. To make him so he never even existed in the first place. She wanted her mother back and her home back and out of all things, she wanted the caravan back. She wanted it all back so bad it crawled into her skin and settled there like a neverending itch. But it was gone, all gone, and it was all his fault. 

Wren turned around and collapsed against the far wall, tears she could no longer hold back streaming down her face. She felt like a child, like a tiny, inconsolable infant. Everything she tried, everything she did backfired in her face just like the bombs. Just like the fireworks, all those years ago. Rannok slumped beside her. She glanced at him. His eyes were shining, wet with a slick of water. He put his head in his hands.

"No," he said. "I can't do that. I'm so, so sorry."

Wren's throat ached. She leaned her head back and wiped the tears that wouldn't stop coming from her eyes. She looked at him, her face a mess, chest still wracked with crying. Her mind searched in an endless sea of options for even one she could latch onto. She didn't know how to be a marked one, and neither did he, really. She needed to learn to fly. How to hide and protect herself. How to live with a curse that she realized, even though it wasn't and could never be his fault, she'd been blaming on him.

"What do we do now?" she asked. He turned his head and looked at her, eyes all fierce determination and sorrow and guilt. It made her wince and look away. 

"Please. Let me help you."

Wren silently extended a wingtip. He took it and carefully began laying the feathers back into place.

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Should Wren have let him help her? If you were her, would you have let him? Let me know in the comments!